Lives Dealing with Pure Creation
by T-c3
Summary: A collection of ficlets about the team.
1. Keep the Alcohol Far Away

Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own it

Note: I'll be adding more ficlets every so often. Just as a warning, slash or implied slash may be in some of these. (Or maybe all? I have no clue. Haha!)

Summary: Ariadne talks about embarrassing things when she's drunk.

* * *

"Arthur, do you dream anymore?"

He turns to Ariadne, who is clearly passed the point of being tipsy and well onto being thoroughly drunk. Being the designated driver, he's still on his first glass. "No, I don't." He wonders if this is going to turn into a half-slurred conversation that will quickly start going downhill in terms of coherency.

She looks up at the ceiling, swirling the beer in her bottle. Her eyes trace invisible patterns in the yellowing paint as she asks, "Do you miss it?"

"Not really. I prefer having uninterrupted sleep."

Suddenly, Ariadne gasps. At first, Arthur thinks she sees something, so he joins her in looking at the ceiling. He doesn't notice any anomalies, but then she looks at him with wide eyes and declares rather loudly, "That means you can't have sex dreams!"

Arthur is mortified and tries to tell her to keep her voice down as she starts giggling. A few people turn to look at them, and he just smiles awkwardly.

"Sex dreams can be annoying sometimes," she continues in a whisper, "but they can reveal some important stuff about yourself."

He doesn't want to ask, but he can't resist the temptation. Maybe he wants to see that cute look of embarrassment tomorrow when she's sober enough to realize what came out of her mouth. "Like what?"

"Ohhhh, I dunno." She raises her bottle as though she were giving a toast, looking towards a corner of the bar. "Like stuff about your innermost feelings about someone." Then she quickly turns to him and says frankly, "I had a sex dream of me with a woman once. Maybe that means something?"

Arthur merely stares at her, eyes slightly wide, having no clue what to say to that.

Turning back to the corner, she takes a swig from her bottle and sets it down with a bit too much force. "Or it could be that everyone has a sex dream like that. The mind's curious and all. It's our nature to be curious." Her eyes slide towards Arthur, her mouth quirked in amusement. "Have you ever had a gay sex dream before you started all this dream sharing?"

Arthur could feel heat rush to his cheeks. They were _not_ having this conversation.

Twisting in her seat so that she was fully facing him, Ariadne appeared almost excited. "If you could still dream now, do you think you'd have one of Eames?"

At that, Arthur is done. He quickly stands, nearly tripping over his own feet, and pulls Ariadne up with him. "I think I should take you home now."

She laughs all the way, even while she's struggling to buckle her seatbelt in Arthur's car. "Arthur! I was only kidding! You so have a crush on him, don't you?"

Starting the engine, he tries to keep his voice level. "First of all, I'm a little old to 'crush' on someone. Second of all, no."

Ariadne playfully hits him on the arm, still laughing. She doesn't say anything else after that, for she soon passes out.

The next morning, she looks miserable, and when she passes Arthur's work table, she apologizes for whatever she said. Arthur lets out a tiny sigh of relief. But then he hears a whisper a few feet behind him.

"He totally does."

When Arthur looks over his shoulder and sees Ariadne and Eames smiling at each other like idiots, the horrifying realization dawns on him that he's been played.


	2. Blunt

Summary: What did Arthur expect him to say?

* * *

Arthur hasn't slept in over twenty-six hours, and his mind is starting to wander. He knows that once he can't focus anymore, he needs to take a break. Continuing would be an utter waste of time. It's only himself and Cobb, so he allows a yawn to escape him as he stretches to relieve his aching back. Then a sleep deprived thought enters his mind.

"Am I thinking too much, or has Eames been coming on to me?"

Cobb looks up from his desk and stares at Arthur blankly for a moment. Then he finally says, "You're not thinking too much." And he resumes his scribbling.

Arthur's eyes widen, a comical expression for a man who's always so serious. "Wait . . . what?"

"Get some sleep, Arthur."

Only sleep doesn't come as easily as it should.


	3. The Family She Knows

Summary: How Ariadne feels about the team.

* * *

Regardless of Miles' warnings, Ariadne can't stay away. She's hooked as if she were smoking crack instead of sharing dreams. And, really, the people she works with don't help. She's grown so fond of them that they feel like some sort of dysfunctional family that she hadn't even realized she'd wanted. Cobb is like an overprotective big brother, while Eames is like the brother who comes up with insane ways of getting into trouble. Arthur, shockingly, takes the middle ground. He can be overprotective, even though he's not that much older than her, but he sometimes goes along with Eames' plans, if just to watch them fail. Ariadne doesn't see much of Yusuf, but when he's around, he's like a distant relative who can easily click back into place. And Saito is the rich uncle who drops in from time to time, maybe surprise them with a vacation in South Korea that turns out to be the backdrop for a job.

Ariadne wouldn't do a thing to change any of this, since she's very much in love with her current life. But, as they say, all good things must come to an end.

The team eventually splits up. Cobb becomes preoccupied with raising teenagers, and Ariadne breathes a "finally" at Arthur and Eames running off together. She doesn't hear from Yusuf anymore, but Saito keeps in touch by way of sending ridiculously expensive jewelry as birthday presents. Ariadne thinks she should be upset, but she knows she'll start her own family soon. She's met a nice extractor while on a job in Italy, and perhaps she's actually in love. Besides, even dysfunctional families have reunions. Ariadne is positive she'll see them all again one day.


End file.
